Hello fellow fiction writers.

Let’s be real—writing fiction without similes is a bit like eating chips without salt. You can do it, but it’s bland. Similes add flavour to your storytelling by creating vivid comparisons readers instantly connect with. When done right, they’re powerful little tools that can sharpen description, deepen emotion, and even sprinkle humour into your pages.
But (and here’s the kicker) similes can also be overdone. Ever slogged through a paragraph where the writer crams in comparisons like a buffet plate at an all-you-can-eat? Not fun. So, let’s talk about how similes enhance a narrative, and how to avoid turning them into clunky distractions.

🎯 Why Use Similes in Fiction?
At their core, similes make abstract things relatable. They take the unknown and anchor it to the known. Here’s what they can do for your story:

• Paint sharper pictures: “Her smile was like sunlight breaking through clouds.” Boom—instantly visual.
• Convey emotions: “He felt like a balloon with the air slowly leaking out.” We’ve all been there.
• Show character voice: A cynical detective might compare the world to “a cigarette stubbed out in a puddle,” while a romantic heroine might see it “like a song waiting to be sung.”
• Add humour: “He ran like a penguin late for a wedding.”

Similes aren’t just decoration—they can reveal perspective, tone, and personality.

✍️ Personal Anecdote: When a Simile Backfired
In one of my early drafts, I described rain “like a thousand mice tap dancing on the roof.” My critique partner burst out laughing, which wasn’t quite the gothic mood I was aiming for. That’s when I realised similes are a double-edged sword—they can amplify your tone, or completely derail it. Lesson learned: match your simile to the mood of the scene.

✅ Examples of Similes That Work

• Romantic fiction: “Her laugh was like champagne bubbles, light and irresistible.”
• Horror: “The silence pressed in on him like a coffin lid.”
• Fantasy: “The sword gleamed like a shard of fallen starlight.”
• Comedy: “He strutted into the room like a cat who’d just licked the cream—and half the furniture.”

Notice how each one fits its genre. A simile that’s perfect for romance might feel laughable in a gritty thriller.

🚫 Simile Mistakes to Avoid

• Too many in one scene: If every line has a “like” or “as,” readers stop noticing them.
• Clichés: “As cold as ice,” “as busy as a bee,” “like a rock.” Yawn. Readers want fresh.
• Unintentional comedy: A tense moment ruined by a goofy comparison. Unless you want the laugh, tread carefully.
• Over-explaining: Don’t use a simile and explain it. Trust your reader’s imagination.

🛠 Tips for Using Similes Like a Pro

1. Match the mood: Keep similes in line with the tone of your scene.
2. Keep them fresh: Invent new comparisons that reflect your character’s worldview.
3. Test out loud: Read the simile aloud. If it sounds clunky, it’ll read clunky.
4. Think voice: A farmer, a scientist, and a teenager won’t compare things the same way. Use similes to show character.

💬 Wrapping It Up
Similes, when used with care, can take your narrative from flat to fantastic. They’re not just decorative fluff—they’re little bridges between your reader’s imagination and your character’s world. Think of them like seasoning in cooking: sprinkle just enough to make your writing tasty, but don’t dump in the whole spice rack.
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So, how do you use similes in your fiction? Do you love them, loathe them, or struggle to keep them under control? Drop a comment—I’d love to hear your take. I reply personally to every comment.

Hello fellow fiction writers.
If you’ve been around writing circles for more than five minutes, you’ve probably heard the advice: “Show, don’t tell.” It’s the most over-quoted (and often least explained) rule in fiction writing.

So, what does “showing versus telling” actually mean? And how do you get it right without turning every paragraph into a purple-prose description of how your hero ties their shoelaces? Let’s break it down with some practical tips, examples, and a few personal “oops” moments.

🎯 What’s the Difference Between Showing and Telling?

• Telling is when you inform the reader what’s happening.
• Showing is when you illustrate what’s happening through action, dialogue, or sensory details so the reader experiences it.

Think of it this way: telling is like reading a weather report. Showing is stepping outside and feeling the rain hit your face.

✏️ Examples of Showing vs. TellingTelling:
Telling: She was angry.
Showing: Her jaw tightened. She slammed the cup on the counter, sending coffee sloshing over the rim.

Telling: It was cold outside.
Showing: The wind cut through his coat, stinging his ears and numbing his fingertips.

Telling:John was nervous about the interview.
Showing:John’s palms slicked with sweat as he rehearsed answers under his breath, his tie suddenly too tight against his throat.

See the difference? Telling delivers information. Showing makes your reader feel it.

🧠 Why “Show, Don’t Tell” Matters

1. Engagement – Readers are far more invested when they can experience emotions and settings instead of just being told about them.
2. Character depth – Showing reveals personality through behaviour and choices, not just labels.
3. Immersion – Great fiction pulls readers into the story world. Showing does the heavy lifting here.

⚖️ But Wait—Telling Isn’t Always Bad
Here’s the part a lot of writing advice skips: you actually need both.
Imagine if every line of your book was entirely “shown”:
“He walked across the room, one foot in front of the other, the floor creaking beneath his weight, his socks damp from the laundry he’d spilt earlier…”
Ugh. Exhausting. Sometimes it’s perfectly fine (and even necessary) to just tell.

Use telling when:

• You’re moving quickly through unimportant transitions (“They drove to the airport.”)
• You need to summarise events to avoid bogging down the pace.
• You’re giving context or backstory in small doses.

Use showing when:

• Emotions run high
• You’re in a key scene that reveals character or conflict
• You want readers to connect on a sensory or emotional level
• 
  

📝 A Personal Oops Moment
In my first novel draft, I thought I was nailing “show, don’t tell.” Instead, I ended up with entire paragraphs describing how my character looked at the floor, then at the wall, then at the door while internally monologuing about the meaning of life. My critique partner circled a page and wrote: “You’ve shown me every blink, but told me nothing.”
Lesson learned: showing isn’t about piling on detail—it’s about choosing the right detail.

🚀 Tips to Balance Showing and Telling

1. Highlight the big moments. Save your showing energy for emotional or plot-heavy scenes.
2. Use body language. A clenched fist or trembling lip goes a long way.
3. Leverage dialogue. What characters say (and how they say it) shows emotion better than adverbs.
4. Sprinkle sensory detail. Don’t just say “the room was old”—show the peeling wallpaper and musty smell.
5. Trust your reader. You don’t need to tell them a character is scared after showing sweaty palms and a racing heartbeat.

🎬 Wrapping It Up
“Show, don’t tell” isn’t about eliminating one in favour of the other—it’s about balance. Telling moves your story along; showing makes your story come alive. Together, they’re the perfect duo for compelling fiction.
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Over to you: Have you ever been told your writing was “too much telling”? Or maybe you’ve gone overboard on showing? Share your experience in the comments—I’d love to hear how you’ve tackled it. I personally answer every message.

Hello, fiction writers. If grammar terms make your eyes glaze over faster than a rainy Sunday afternoon, you’re not alone. Restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses sound like something pulled from a dusty English textbook. But if you’re a fiction writer, they’re actually pretty important—because getting them wrong can change the meaning of your sentences (and confuse or mislead your readers).
Let’s make this painless—and maybe even fun.

First, What Are We Even Talking About?
A restrictive clause is essential to the meaning of the sentence. Without it, the sentence changes completely.
A nonrestrictive clause, on the other hand, is extra info—nice to have, but the sentence would still make sense without it.
Think of it like this:

• Restrictive clause = the meat of your burger. Take it out, and you’re left with an empty bun.
• Nonrestrictive clause = the pickles. You can toss them and still have a burger, but pickle lovers will protest.

Examples in ActionRestrictive clause:
The detective who wore a red scarf was the one who caught the killer.
Translation: There were several detectives, but only the red-scarf one caught the killer.
Nonrestrictive clause:
The detective, who wore a red scarf, caught the killer.
Translation: There was only one detective, and by the way, they happened to wear a red scarf.

The Comma Question
Here’s the easy rule:

• Restrictive clauses don’t get commas.
• Nonrestrictive clauses do.

Those little curved bits of punctuation aren’t just decoration—they signal whether the clause is essential or just extra detail.

Why This Matters in Fiction Writing
Messing up your clauses can unintentionally mislead readers.
Example:
"Her brother, who lived in Paris, sent her a letter."
— This tells us she has one brother, and he lives in Paris.
"Her brother who lived in Paris sent her a letter."
— This means she has more than one brother, and the Paris-dwelling one sent the letter.
See? One set of commas and you’ve completely changed her family tree.

A Personal Oops Moment
In one of my early drafts, I wrote:
"The man who smelled faintly of fish stepped into the shop."
Except I meant all the men in that scene smelled like fish (don’t ask—it was set by the docks). I accidentally made it sound like there was only one unfortunate fish-smelling guy. Cue three beta readers asking, “Why single him out?” Lesson learned: commas can make or break clarity.

Tips for Fiction Writers

1. Read aloud – You’ll naturally pause where commas should be in nonrestrictive clauses.
2. Ask yourself: Is this info essential to identifying the subject? If yes, no commas.
3. Keep it smooth – Too many nonrestrictive clauses in a row can bog down pacing.
4. Use them for characterisation – Nonrestrictive clauses are great for slipping in personality details.
   Example: Maggie, who hated mornings, slammed the coffee pot on the counter.

Wrapping It Up
'Restrictive and nonrestrictive clauses aren’t just grammar trivia—they’re tools that help you control meaning, pacing, and tone. Think of them as part of your storytelling toolkit. Get them right, and your readers will glide through your prose without hitting speed bumps of confusion.

Your turn: Have you ever had a “comma catastrophe” that changed your sentence’s meaning? Share it in the comments—I promise, we’ve all been there. I answer each comment personally.

Hello, fiction writers.

Ever read through your own draft and thought, “Wow… did I really just use ‘suddenly’ five times on one page?” Don’t worry, you’re not alone. Redundant words and phrases are like uninvited guests at a dinner party—they sneak in quietly and refuse to leave until you spot them.
The problem is, most writers don’t notice them during the heat of creation. When we’re drafting, our brains are in “story mode,” not “editor mode,” so it’s easy to sprinkle the exact words and phrases across every paragraph. The result? A manuscript that feels clunky, repetitive, or unintentionally funny.

Let’s talk about how to spot these sneaky little echoes and boot them out before they tank your story’s flow.

🎯 Why Redundant Words Are a Problem
Redundancy in writing doesn’t just make your sentences longer—it drags your reader’s attention off the story and onto the words themselves. Here’s why that’s a problem:

-It slows the pace.
Imagine reading: She nodded her head in agreement as she sat down on the chair.
Yikes. Her head is the only thing that can nod, and of course, she sat on the chair. Half of those words could vanish without changing a thing.

-It dulls the impact.
When you repeat words like “really,” “just,” “actually,” or “suddenly” too often, they lose all their punch. Suddenly… nothing feels sudden anymore.

-It makes readers roll their eyes.
If your detective “narrows his eyes” on every page, your readers might start narrowing theirs—at you.

🔍 Common Redundant Words and Phrases
Here’s a hit list of common culprits that love to sneak into fiction:

• Free gift (is any gift not free?)
• End result (just say “result”)
• Each and every (pick one)
• Close proximity (proximity already means “close”)
• Unexpected surprise (all surprises are unexpected, right?)
• Absolutely essential (essential is already absolute)
• He shrugged his shoulders (what else would he shrug?)
• She whispered softly (whispering is already soft)

And then there are the word tics—those personal favourites we use without realising. Mine used to be “a little.” My characters were a little tired, a little annoyed, a little in love… until my beta reader begged me to stop a little.

🛠 How to Spot and Fix Redundancy
-Use the “Find” Tool Like a Detective
Pick a word you suspect you overuse—like “just,” “looked,” or “felt”—and search your entire document. You might be shocked (and maybe slightly horrified) at how many times it pops up.

-Read Your Work Aloud
Our ears catch patterns that our eyes miss. If you start droning the exact phrase over and over, your brain will wave a big red flag.

-Trim the Fat
Challenge yourself to remove redundant words without changing the sentence’s meaning.
Example:
Before: He stood up and walked over to the table.
After: He stood and walked to the table.

-Swap for Variety
If a word is essential but appears too often, grab a thesaurus. Variety adds texture without pulling focus.

✏️ A Quick Anecdote from My Editing Desk
In my early drafts of a horror novella, my characters were constantly “freezing in fear.” I counted. Eleven times in three chapters. My beta reader joked, “Are they scared or just very cold?” That was my wake-up call.
I went back and rephrased most of them:

• Her breath caught.
• He rooted to the spot.
• She couldn’t move.

Suddenly, my terrified characters didn’t sound like they’d all caught hypothermia.

💡 Wrapping It Up
Redundant words and phrases are like background noise—they clutter your story without adding value. The good news is they’re easy to fix once you know where to look.
Next time you revise, hunt down those repetitive little gremlins. Your readers (and your future self) will thank you.

Your turn:
​What’s the one word or phrase you always catch yourself overusing? Drop it in the comments—I promise, we’ve all been there. I reply to every comment personally.